


Growth Opportunity

by buckybleeds



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Full Rectal Prolapse, Guro, HYDRA Trash Party, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Macro/Micro, Proceed with caution, Rape, Read at Your Own Risk, Sex Pollen, Size Difference, Vomiting, might actually be worse than the tags, oh god where do i start with this, tell me if i missed something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybleeds/pseuds/buckybleeds
Summary: Steve Rogers and Hank Pym get trapped in a box full of sex pollen that makes their sizes go haywire: The Musical
Relationships: Brock Rumlow/Cynthia Mercer, Hank Pym/Steve Rogers
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26
Collections: Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2019





	Growth Opportunity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BookofOdym](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookofOdym/gifts).



> Written for BookofOdym for the Hydra Holiday Trash Party Gift Exchange 2019
> 
> *Spectacularly* garbagey, please enjoy.  
> (But forreal mind the tags)

When Steve had done the tights and tap-dancing tour one of the things he periodically heard from the girls was that you should never work with kids or animals. 

He couldn't remember if that was 'cause they'd upstage you or if they were, by their nature, unruly, but the concept stuck with him for whatever reason. 

And standing in a blastproof, glass-walled AIM lab that was filling with ominous pink gas a new truism occurred to him: never work with unstable chemicals or unstable geniuses. 

Because there was no way this was going to end well.

* * *

Hank Pym was abrupt, mouthy, and entirety too sure of himself. He reminded Steve of Tony, though he was positive that both men would resent the comparison. 

"Idiots, all these glory-hungry, two-bit civil engineers are idiots, they can't make something themselves so they've got to break something I made."

He was on this twentieth straight minute of ranting about AIM's subpar scientists while the quinjet made its way to the lab that had scrambled Steve, STRIKE, and one loud middle-aged man into a sudden mission in Idaho. 

Rumlow crowded next to Steve on the bench, rolling his eyes. 

"Why did we have to bring him along again," he said, low enough that nobody else would be able to hear him over the whine of the engines. 

"Entertainment," Steve responded, not cracking a smile but hinting at it with a tightening at the corners of his eyes.

Rumlow did smile, though. A big toothy grin. He punched Steve companionably on the shoulder. 

"C'mon, Rogers, you know that's your job in this unit."

Steve chuckled and checked the straps of his suit, glad that things were finally starting to feel right for him, that after a year with STRIKE it was beginning to feel like he could shoot the shit with these guys and trade insults and maybe go a day without feeling like his loneliness was going to swallow him whole. 

A chime sounded in the cabin. 

Five minutes to landing. 

* * *

The reason they'd needed Hank Pym was simple enough: the energy reading that sent SHIELD scurrying toward this particular lab read as Pym particles, and everyone who was anyone who worked with Pym particles knew that only someone with a death wish would work with them without an expert. 

The reason they took him was simple enough too: he was there when the call came in and wouldn’t let them leave without him.

Pym was notoriously prickly about who got to use his code and work with the particles so he'd jumped at the opportunity to assist in exploring why there had been a burst of Kosmos radiation over a massive potato farm. He'd bullied his way onto the jet, swore until Murphy got off the jet, and took it as given that his escort into the concrete warren they'd discovered under miles of Russets was going to be Captain America.

Steve tried to take it all in stride. 

A lone concrete shed rose out of the field where the energy had been emitted so they had landed next to that. 

It was creepy, standing alone surrounded by dark green plants in dark brown soil uninterrupted by anything but the horizon. 

It was creepier inside. 

The camouflage of farmland fell away immediately because the inside of the shabby little cinderblock shed was a blindingly white elevator lobby that led to a steel and glass conveyer that could carry four squads at once. 

Steve took point, placing himself in front of the doors, holding his shield low and ready. 

There was nobody inside.

Something jostled Steve from behind and he only half-turned to see it before Pym was shoving his way through the door, holding a blinking box and talking non-stop.

"Finally, all that dirt was interfering. Okay it's left at the fork and then -"

Steve shoved Pym against the pristine wall of the long, empty hallway he'd changed down. 

The tiny drones that had flown at Pym were quick but Steve was quicker and three coin-sized robots embedded themselves in his stealth suit's impact plating instead of into Pym's face. 

The scientist froze, going wide-eyed and quiet for the first time since Steve had met him. He let Steve walk ahead of him. 

"Careful," Steve said as he passed, letting the corner of his mouth curve up in a smile. "We can't do this without you, Dr. Pym. You're at the _root_ of this thing."

It took two seconds for the potato pun to percolate through Pym's brain, at which point he shot Steve a withering look. 

"That was appalling," Pym said, and frowned at Steve. But he did stay two steps behind him. 

* * *

The first three levels of the complex contained nothing more interesting than the drones that kept trying to attach themselves to every member of the team. Pym had pried one loose from Steve's forearm and aimed his blinking sensor at it. 

"It's got the Kosmos energy signature," he said, frowning, "but the potentiometer indicates that it is incompatible with standard Pym particles."

He prodded at the inert little robot with the thumb of his suit and nothing happened. He tapped at one that was still dug into Steve's chest armor. 

"Something’s not right," Steve said, a furrow forming between his brows as he spoke into his throat mic. “I want all nonessential personnel back on the surface. This isn’t a raid, this is a trap.”

* * *

What they might have been missing became clear on the next level down.

Steve threw open the door to clear a room like the fifty other rooms he'd cleared since there'd arrived and was greeted by the first truly odd sight of the day. 

He still checked the room for any obvious and potentially shooty threats before he stopped to gawk, but as soon as he reasonably could gawk he did. Because how often was it that you saw what was clearly a pregnant alien tree?

The thing was a bizarre, fuscia, rubbery, gelatinous, humming, frumious mess.

It was wrong. It was wrong enough that it offended his senses. It whistled. It throbbed.

He hated it and he couldn't look away. 

Behind him Pym spoke up. 

"It's Kosmosan," the device he held was blinking furiously, his voice was shaky. "They shouldn't have been able to move something whole. We only take and add matter, the life there is incompatible with our dimension."

"I guess someone found a way to make it compatible, " Steve said, stepping closer to the extra-dimensional entity that happened to be shaped like a disconcertingly gravid plant. It smelled like maple and cherries and sugar on fire. It seemed to be radiating warmth and pulsating. Disgusting. 

Pym grabbed his elbow and tugged him away from the tree-shaped thing. 

"This isn't going to shoot us but we've got no no idea how stable it is."

Steve nodded and let himself be pulled out of the room. 

Something flashed in his peripheral vision and he looked down to see that the drone on his chest had started blinking. He frowned and plucked it out of the thick material of the suit before crushing it to dust between two fingers. 

"Let's move on," he sighed, suddenly feeling like he'd been in the weird, creepy, empty mad science bunker for a week. 

* * *

In the end the complex was empty, the lowest two levels void of any life beyond what looked like a cutting from the Kosmosan not-tree in a sealed lab that looked like a giant plastic cube standing alone in a gymnasium's worth of space on the lowest level.

Since it was clear that he wasn't going to be shot and nothing was actively exploding Pym had apparently decided it was time to do science. He was jabbing at the door to the plastic lab.

“Don’t touch that,” Steve admonished, and ambled over to huddle up with Rumlow and Mercer, setting his shield against the console Mercer was investigating. Pym had stopped jabbing at the panel and just pointed his blinking box at it.

"This doesn’t feel right. No sign of anyone from AIM, we've had eyes on the facility since the radiation was recorded. Thoughts?" Steve had some, but it seemed important to work with the team, see what they did when he wasn't just a distracting celebrity to wrangle.

Rumlow tilted his head and considered.

"Pym says his matter goes to the Kosmos dimension when he shrinks. Could they have gotten themselves zapped into space?"

Steve grimaced and Mercer shook her head.

"If they could get that tree thing here they're good enough not to get themselves killed in the process."

"Maybe something changed, maybe they went too far or didn't use the right safety procedures." Rumlow warmed up to the conversation when it was something he could argue about.

"Look around, everything else is empty too. It's all cleaned out, nothing's broken, no coffee cups waiting on desks. That wouldn't happen if it was an accident."

"So you think this was intentional," Steve said. Across the room something blipped on the cube and Pym laughed triumphantly.

"If they wanted to do it on purpose why wouldn't they shield their signature? Why would they leave their work for us to find?"

Steve was already picking up speed on his way to stop Pym from entering the glass lab but he took the time to answer over his shoulder.

"Bait."

* * *

Rumlow waited until Cap was just inside before he muttered "Hook, line, and sinker," to Mercer.

"So predictable," she agreed, pressing a button on the console in front of her and looking up to watch the commotion when Rogers realized he and Pym were stuck.

* * *

"What are you panicking for," Pym grumbled after Steve threw his shoulder into the door as hard as he could with the same lack of impact as the three previous times. "It's not like there's anything dangerous in here." 

Mercer and Rumlow were working on the door with a kit that Rollins had run down from the Quinjet before heading back up to safety to wait for backup. Pym had opened the lab with his little blinking box but there was no interface for it on the back of the door. So Pym was standing at a long table, pointing his box at the tree-thing and trying to ignore Steve. 

"I don't know, _Hank_ ," he said, "there's something about being locked in a big glass viewing room with no handles on the inside of the door that sort of puts me on edge."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're kind of an asshole or are most people too blinded by the golden halo and choir of angels that follow you around to get to know you that well?"

"We tell him that once a week," Rumlow said, aiming a cutting torch that was determinedly not cutting the door. "Partly because it keeps his ego in check but mostly because it's true."

That startled a laugh out of Steve. He crossed his arms and looked at the shiny white tile floor. 

"I've been in a lot of labs since the serum," ugh, feelings. He hated talking about feelings. "In my experience the ones that only open from the outside are the ones you don't want to be in."

Mercer's expression softened and Pym, who opened his mouth to say something, stayed quiet instead. Small miracles.

"Well suck it up, buttercup, because it looks like you're going to be in there at least until we can get a tech team out," Rumlow pushed up the goggles he was wearing and set aside the torch, "because I don't know what material all of this is but it's not budging."

"Thanks, Commander," Steve said. "I don't know how I'd get - "

A siren split the air and cut off the rest of Steve's reply. The cool white lights overhead blacked out and red lights strobed in time to the alarm.

"How's that tech team looking," Steve took a few steps back and charged at the door a little faster and a little harder. He just bounced off again.

"ETA twenty minutes," Rumlow shouted back.

"Any chance of you helping out _now_ ," Pym had frozen at the sound of the siren but snapped into action, making a gesture with his hand and shrinking out of sight with startling suddenness.

The siren's squalling cut off and the calm white lights flickered back to life, showing Rumlow and Mercer staring at the locking mechanism on their side of the door.

"What," Steve said, feeling useless and afraid to move with Pym shrunk down too small to see, "what now?"

"There's a countdown," Mercer said. "Two minutes."

Pym exploded back to full size at about waist-height on Steve, crowding him back from the door as he kept growing until he was twice his normal size.

"Can't get into the panel, can't get through the cracks. This room is disconcertingly well sealed." He shoved Steve further away and started kicking with all the force his enlarged body could muster.

"Two minutes to what," Steve shouted around him, just as a shrill chirping started somewhere behind him. He whirled around to face the threat but didn't see anything. 

" _Shit_ , the drones, Rogers hold still," Pym approached him and Steve made himself stand still even though prickles of wrongness were creeping over his limbs and shuddering through his frame. He felt large fingers picking at the material of his suit and heard a crunch as the fingers pinched together. The wrong-feel stopped moving over him.

"A minute thirty," Mercer said, looking more and more worried and big? Mercer was little. Mercer was a foot shorter than Steve, why did she look big? Rumlow was talking into his throat-mic and slapping open-handedly at the door.

"Does anyone have any idea what the hell is going on," Steve said, attempting to wobble to his feet only to realize he hadn't fallen down, he was already on his feet. He looked up and up at Pym, who towered over him.

The enlarged doctor clenched his hands and shrugged his shoulders and twisted his elbows, the movements getting more frantic as he went on.

"I can't control the suit - the drone, there was a drone on your shoulder; I think they found a way to replicate my size manipulation with the tree, it's putting out Kosmosan radiation. This lab is full of it. I think - okay you shrunk but once we get out of here I can fix it, and I can fix my suit. We just need to get back to my labs."

Steve took that in and decided that further yelling wouldn't help anything.

"Rumlow, any idea what that's counting down to or how far out the tech team is? If they could bust their asses a little here I'd appreciate it."

Rumlow was looking uncharacteristically pale, his eyes darting between Steve and Pym while his jaw hung open.

"We radioed for Iron Man, Cap," Mercer said, "we're getting help as soon as we can."

Steve swallowed.

"Rumlow?"

"Th-thirty seconds."

"Cynthia," Steve tried again. "Cyn, what happened?"

Her eyes welled up with tears and she pressed her lips together.

"When the siren went off blast doors closed between every level. They can't get them open. They have to break through the doors."

That wasn't good.

"And the countdown?"

She shook her head and looked away.

"I don't know, Cap, I don't know but - the readout just says 'gas' and we can't -"

The final ten seconds of the countdown started beeping out of the control panel.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Steve fumbled at his belt; he could probably survive a lot of different kinds of gas but Pym wouldn't and all of Steve's filters were now child-sized while Pym was towering something like nine feet in the air.

Five seconds, he counted the beeps absently.

"Pym, does that suit have a mask of any kind?"

The scientist wasn't responding, frozen in panic, so Steve mentally shrugged and just started climbing him. His head came up to mid-thigh against Hank's growth and he had to pull himself up hand over hand to scramble up to his shoulder and hold a tiny filter over to his mouth. He clung on with one hand as the last of the beeping from the door petered out.

"Hank, you have to look at me," he tried to project calm authority into his voice and wondered how ridiculous it sounded coming out of his tiny body, "do you have a mask for the suit?"

Pym's brain caught up to what was happening and he shifted his arm hold Steve in place, cradling him against his chest like a toddler. Steve adjusted his grip on the filter. "Do you think you could breathe through this for a little while? Just bite down and breathe through your mouth."

The scientist did and almost immediately Steve realized it wouldn't work. The filter wouldn't get him the airflow he needed in order to process enough oxygen to sustain his larger body.

Pym opened his lips and released the filter.

"You use that, Steve."

"I've got the serum, I can - "

Pym shook his head.

"You've got no idea what being this size might have done to your metabolism. I'll be able to take a larger dose of whatever it is than I normally would, and the rebreather is too small for me anyway. Put it on."

He started to argue but the older man ended the discussion by simply plucking the filter out of his little hand and putting it in his mouth.

"Don't debate, just breathe."

He couldn't say anything with the filter in his mouth and so there was nothing to distract him from the quiet hiss of gas filtering into the little room.

* * *

It was visible, which was a surprise. The gas was visible and pale pink. It reminded Steve unpleasantly of the wrong-bad-pregnant tree-thing neatly sampled and sitting on the table in the corner of the lab.

It was heavier than the air, settling at around three inches off the ground when the hissing stopped, and for a moment he thought maybe everything would be okay; maybe the gas would sit lower than the air they were breathing and they'd just have to wait for Tony to break them out.

Then the fans started.

Pym was still holding Steve to his chest, trying to keep him above the gas, so Steve could feel him trying to take shallower breaths, could feel the way his chest caught when he got his first lungful of the gas. Steve thought about how long he could hold his breath and considered just jamming the filter into Hank’s mouth and holding it there because watching his face was disturbing, disorienting.

Steve was watching a man take little sips of air to see he was going to die. After breathing in the pink mist for about three minutes Pym apparently decided it wasn't going to kill him. He put Steve down.

"Keep that rebreather in," he said, frowning in concentration and tapping at the wrist-panel of his suit, "just because I'm not dead yet doesn't mean I won't be soon."

He pressed a couple buttons and began speaking into his wrist.

"The gas in question is denser than air. It does not noticeably collect on surfaces, light pink in color. Smells like - smells rotten. Bananas and eucalyptus and rotting fish. Initial taste is bitter, followed by cloying sweetness. No skin or eye irritation noticeable within five minutes of exposure."

Apparently "maybe dying of mystery gas poisoning" wasn't a good reason to stop doing science. Pym was kind of a prick but at least he was admirable for that.

Steve poked around in the cabinets, too small at the moment to see the countertops. He found a tray of Petri dishes all displaying a slice of the pink not-tree with a variety of odd-colored stuff growing on it. Since he couldn't make heads or tails of it he set it aside for Hank to look at and started looking through the solvents and chemicals. 

He was about to move on to the next cabinet when he heard Cynthia's voice in his earpiece.

"Steve, don't move, Rumlow is trying to distract him."

Her voice was quiet and tense and Steve belatedly realized that he couldn't hear Pym talking anymore, just loud, ragged breathing.

"Okay, when I give the word run toward your three o'clock and don't let him NOW, NOW, STEVE GO - "

And Steve didn't question it, just took off running.

Or tried to. He hadn't gotten two steps before a huge hand was wrapped around his arm and picking him up just to slam him down on top of the cabinet he'd been exploring. 

He didn't shout because it would have lost him his air filter, but he did moan as the bone-jarring impact rattled through him. 

Steve tried to twist away from Pym but one hand on his waist was all it took to pin him. He managed to turn at least far enough to get a look at the doctor but a quick look was enough to regret it. 

Pym's face was twisted up into a snarl, teeth bared where he panted through his mouth. Sweat stood out on his forehead and had soaked his hair leaving gray greasy strands framing his temples. Most disturbing was the pink sheen to his eyes, staining the whites unnaturally, too bright to be blood.

His face contorted out of its snarl and went slack, confused for a moment, like he didn't know how he'd gotten there. 

"Steve?" He sounded so lost that Steve could only pity him through his fear.

He wanted to speak to him, comfort him, but he didn't dare release the filter now that he saw what the gas could do.

"I can't - it _hurts_ -" Pym panted.

He used his grip on Steve's waist to drag him to the edge of the counter, letting his legs dangle and putting more weight on the hand holding him down. Pym pressed up against Steve's rear and ground his hips forward, still whining in a strained voice.

"It hurts, Steve."

What, specifically, hurt became clear as Steve felt the thick, hot weight of an enormous erection rubbing against him through both of their suits. Where he'd been struggling before now he started fighting.

Even though he was smaller he was still enhanced and Pym particles let shrunk people keep their full strength. Someone the size of a toddler with the strength of Captain America was a dangerous thing. Steve kept himself from panicking and tucked his legs up against the lip of the counter, letting Pym's own strength act as leverage where he was pinned down. He kicked out both legs together and landed a hit below the belt that Pym was fumbling with. Pym howled and the pressure keeping Steve down let up enough to get his hopes up before he was picked up and battered against the counter. The filter flew out of his mouth as the air was crushed out of his lungs and he was being picked up and smashed down again and again until he lost count and lost awareness of everything except the pain in his face, the sound of his ribs cracking, and a disgusting sweetness coating his tongue.

He struggled back to consciousness to find himself wheezing into a small puddle of blood that had run out of his mouth and nose, instinctively taking shallow breaths to alleviate the crushing pressure and pain in his chest. His head was fuzzy and the lights of the lab had bright halos around them. He looked forward and realized he could see Mercer and Rumlow through the wall with identical, almost hilarious expressions of horror on their faces.

He felt the cool air of the lab against the bare skin of his ass and realized the stealth suit had been mostly ripped off of him. Pym was still pinning his waist with one hand and using the other to rummage on the shelves below him. Steve gathered his strength for one last assault, and kicked again, aiming his heels at where he hoped Pym's temple was.

He missed, and the hand around his waist tightened in warning.

"You gotta fight it, Hank," he gasped; the body behind his was moving and he craned his neck to try to look him in the eye or see what was happening or at least feel a little more like a human and a little less like a bug tacked to a card.

What he saw wasn't good.

Pym's face was contorted in rage, his eyes as pink and blank as those of an albino rabbit. He'd gotten his suit open and while he probably wasn't much to write home about at his normal size the cock that was now dripping and hanging heavy and full between his legs was a fucking foot if it was an inch. Steve swallowed and caught sight of the jug that Pym had dug out of the supply cabinet.

Mineral oil.

He couldn't help it. He started wheezing out loud, ugly laughter.

"Buddy, I gotta tell you, I don't think that's gonna be much help," he cackled, "you could glaze that thing in fuckin' Crisco and I don't think it'd be much help."

Pym ignored him, just popped the top with his thumb and dumped about a quart of oil in the crack of Steve's ass. He set the jug down and dragged his hand through the thick liquid dripping off of Steve, making sure to slather it between his thighs and wet down his hole before Pym gathered some in his hand to run over his cock.

Steve felt giddy - he couldn't tell if it was the gas starting to hit him or the fear or what he was pretty sure was a concussion considering the way everything kept going bright and fuzzy in his vision - and he couldn't stop himself from hyperventilating when Pym's hands wrapped around his thighs and spread his legs, pulling him into the best position for the huge prick to slot itself against his body. 

"D-don't," he choked out, feeling the hot flesh slide over his skin, feeling how big it was against his shrunken frame.

His ribs were screaming and he was scrabbling ineffectually at the countertop underneath him; the noise forcing itself out from between his teeth sounded suspiciously like crying.

It was -

It -

Jesus _Christ_ there was no way it could _fit_ , it felt like somebody was trying to shove a fucking wine bottle into him; it was too broad to even start to penetrate until Hank adjusted his grip and pushed one enlarged thumb inside of Steve, tugging at his sphincter and forcing his other thumb in so that he could pull his hole wide open. The head of the thing wedged into the opening made by Pym's thumbs and starting moving forward and the unrelenting pressure pushed the thoughts out of Steve's head and the air out of his lungs.

At first it was too intense to even be painful and then Pym twitched further in and a shivery lightning-bolt of pain shot from his asshole to the top of his head and the tips of his toes as skin and muscle tore. Pym took advantage of the sudden give and pushed more of himself inside and it _burnedthrobbedcut_ **_hurt_ **so much that Steve couldn't do anything but hang on and try to breathe past the screams being forced out of his body by the terrible weight filling him. He felt his gorge rising as the thing burrowed deeper inside of him and horrible stabbing pains tore at his guts where his organs were being battered by the intrusion.

He was up on his elbows, digging gouges into the table with his fingertips and trying desperately to crawl away. Blood-tinged saliva and mucus and tears dripped off his face; the pain in his ribs didn't matter, his broken nose and dizzy head didn't matter, all that mattered was ending this, making this awful, crushing invasion _stop_.

And, like a miracle, it did briefly stop. The pain plateaued and he had the space of a few breaths to hope that it was over, that Pym had gotten control of himself, that he was going to survive this more or less intact. Then Pym shifted one of his hands off of Steve's hip to slide it under his stomach and he could feel his organs and muscles crushed between the hand underneath him and the monstrous cock inside him for a second before it began to draw back and Steve realized Pym hadn't stopped, he'd bottomed out, as far inside of his body as he could get, and now he was going to start fucking him in earnest.

The withdrawal wasn't as painful as the initial insertion but it came with a sick feeling of suction and emptiness that made Steve gag at the wrongness of it. Pym pulled back until just the head was nestled inside of him then rocked slowly back in, nudging up against his hand through Steve's body again.

It felt inhuman and revolting and _wrong_ ; Pym held him like a toy and humped into his throbbing body like it was just a wet sleeve for his cock and the worst part was that after two or three thrusts Steve could feel himself starting to get hard.

It must have been the gas, the same reaction it had caused in Pym but more minor, tempered by dilution and the supersoldier serum and dampened by pain but nonetheless as the scientist fucked into his battered body Steve began to want it almost as much as it revolted him.

"Please," he whimpered, "please - god, fuck, I can't, I _can't_ , please - " he wasn't sure what he was begging for, only that the sensations he was feeling were too much for him to process, the pain and arousal twined together inside of him in an ugly knot that made him want to vomit and come and dissolve into nothing so that he didn't have to feel like this anymore.

Pym didn't hear or didn't care and it didn't matter which because he just rearranged his hands until they circled Steve's waist and adjusted the angle he was thrusting at until it was pounding Steve's prostate with every movement and the urgency of his arousal spiraled away from the tattered remnants of his shame and wrenched a burning, drawn-out orgasm out of his limp body.

The smell of his come seemed to trigger something in Pym and he growled and thrust in harder, burying himself as deep as he could go then jerking himself off through Steve; he squeezed the supersoldier around him and bucked up hard into his grip until Steve lost the last of his control and vomited into the puddle of blood and come and tears that was soaking into his hair and the rags of his stealth suit.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Pym came. The pulsing rush of fluid felt like it was flooding into Steve's fucking _chest_ and a thin stream of bile was forced out of him at the thought of being more filled and used than he already was.

Pym stayed still for a moment, his breathing evening out from harsh panting to near silent, slow, deep breaths.

"Oh, oh god, Steve," Hank whispered. He slowly released the hand that had been tight around his torso and froze at the pathetic whine that caused.

There were bruises all over him, the dark marks of large fingers dug deep into his skin. His face was smeared with blood from a broken nose and split lip, more blood - a lot more blood - ran down his legs and had dripped onto the floor.

"Jesus Christ," Hank said, and tried to pull away from the tiny, broken body beneath him as gently as he possibly could.

Steve spasmed around him and moaned, cringing into himself as Pym backed away. Steve curled his head into his arms, wanting to hide his face, wanting to disappear or die so this could just be over.

Pym was shushing him and trying to comfort and soothe him even as more inches of his blood-wet prick pulled out of Steve's torn form.

"Ah, god, almost, Steve, we're almost there," he said when only the head of his cock was still trapped. He tried to move carefully but Steve had clamped down on him in pain and delirium. He set his hands on Steve's hips and smoothly but forcefully pulled out. A gush of come and blood followed him and Pym gagged when he saw the red, pulsing cylinder of flesh that showed part of Steve's guts had been forced out of his body with the removal of Pym's dick.

Steve couldn't see what was happening but felt the sick-wrong sensation of air cooling the fluids staining a part _outside_ of his body that was very clearly normally on the _inside_. He curled tighter into the fetal position and Hank panicked with that pushed more of Steve's intestines out of his curled torso.

Pym's throat clicked as he struggled with his gag reflex and put a restraining hand on Steve's hip.

"Don't - " he choked again, "don't move. It's - Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Just - just don't move."

Steve froze, and let himself feel his body for a moment, understanding what had happened to him, what the nauseous, slimy, vulgar sensation of exposure was.

"Fix it," he said, his voice shaky and quiet.

A sorrowful expression passed over Hank's face as he looked down at the mess on the table.

"I - Steve, you need a doctor."

"Please," Steve said, looking up at him for the first time since Pym had pulled him open, blue eyes wet and wide. "Please make it - _please_ ," he begged.

"I can't," Pym said, "I don't know - "

"I don't want it, please _make it stop_ ," Steve moaned, then covered his face again and began to cry like a child, loud, helpless sobs ringing in the quiet lab.

Pym tried not to think about what he was doing as he turned Steve to lie on his back and spread his legs a little. He didn't bother washing his hands because if Steve didn't get to a hospital the bleeding would probably kill him whether or not he got an infection. He picked up the open container of refined mineral oil and poured some on his fingers. He took a deep breath and kept not thinking about what he was doing as he gently pressed his index finger against Steve's prolapsed rectumand began to slowly push it back inside of his body.

Steve's racking sobs were tapering off into silent weeping as he stared sightlessly at the ceiling. His body felt distant and numb and he didn't register when Pym's hands left him or when he was bundled into an oversized lab coat. By the time Tony blew down the blast door with his repulsors Steve was well and truly unconscious and Pym, for all that he wasn't the praying type, was praying that Steve could survive transit to a hospital.

* * *

"Can you tell me where you think today went wrong?"

Rumlow and Mercer made nervous eye contact over the conference phone where it sat innocuously in the center of the control desk at the lowest level of the AIM complex. Behind them the lab was still ominously bright, though no one had come to hose out the blood yet.

Mercer swallowed hard but spoke confidently.

"Before we even left the Triskelion. We never should have brought Pym, he was an unknown element that compromised the experimental design."

"Correct," the Secretary's voice was firm but not cold. They probably weren't going to be buried in shallow graves today.

Probably.

"What went wrong?"

If the Secretary was educating them he probably wasn't going to kill them.

Right?

"We didn't account for anyone growing. Didn't plan for the damage it could do if that happened," Rumlow guessed.

"That's right. But we still came away with some good information. What did we learn?"

Cynthia had been a tech. A researcher. She thought for a second then responded.

"The pollen does effect supersoldiers but more minimally than regular people. Even the small dose he caught would have killed an unenhanced person. The radiation from the cutting activated the drone but deactivated Pym's suit, which might be useful in the future. If we do attempt to use size manipulation to control Rogers we still need to supplement it with sedation; being smaller didn't make him any weaker."

"Good," Pierce was practically purring. Mercer was his favorite; he liked having a thinker on the team and liked even better that she was cruel. "That's what we learned, what did we get."

Rumlow knew this one.

"Leverage. We've got video that can be released if we need another way to neutralize or punish Rogers. And it could potentially be used to control the Asset as well."

"Maybe," Pierce said. "The Asset is unpredictable where Rogers is concerned. But I think Captain Rogers will behave very predictably about the release of today's video, if it comes to that."

They all savored that thought in silence for a moment before the Secretary spoke again.

"Clean up and get out, today is salvageable but you're both getting a writeup for this. It would have been better for you to open the doors, release Rogers, and put down Pym than risk our next asset possibly dying like that. You both have masks and your actions were guided by cowardice, not loyalty. Consider that in the future."

The line went dead.

Rumlow scrubbed his hands over his face.

"What a fuckin' day," he groaned.

Mercer hopped up onto the desk and leaned back on her hands.

"I'll say," she rolled her head on her shoulders for a minute, then poked Rumlow's shin with the toe of her dainty little combat boot.

"Hey Brock," she said, lips curling up into a sweet smile, "got any rubbers?"

"Uh, I think," he said, frowning and patting down his pockets, "what for?"

Her smile got wider and she nudged his thigh with her boot this time, rolling her shoulders back and thrusting her chest up a little.

Rumlow wasn't an idiot but today had been a _lot_ , so he was a little slow on the uptake. He looked between Mercer and the blood-spattered lab, thinking over what they'd seen today.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," she said with a bright little laugh, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a shake of her head.

His eyes ran over her compact, curved form, her hips emphasized by the combat pants and her pert breasts and trim stomach nicely framed by the tight black tee she wore. Her mouth was tantalizingly red, as red as the blood on the floor behind her. His hands probably wouldn't fit all the way around her waist but it would be close. He could pin her down easy, and she was a pretty blond with big blue eyes.

"That's sick, Cyn," he said, already unbuckling his belt.

"Of course," she laughed, and shimmied out of her shirt.


End file.
